Over the weekend, jubilation swept through parts of Uganda after English football club Arsenal F.C. reportedly lifted the Premier League trophy after 22 years, sparking celebrations among diehard supporters who had endured years of heartbreak, memes and annual disappointment disguised as “trusting the process.”
But while some Ugandans were planning victory processions and emotionally preparing to finally wear red jerseys without embarrassment, one man remained completely unmoved: President Yoweri Museveni.
Speaking during the first sitting of the 12th Parliament at Kololo Independence Grounds earlier today, Museveni revealed that he had declined an invitation to join celebrations linked to Arsenal’s success, explaining that he was unfamiliar with the club and had little interest in participating.
“One of my people was inviting me to something called Arsenal, and I should go to celebrate,” President Museveni said.
“I said, ‘What is Arsenal? Celebrate for what?’ Please don’t divert me. I was a footballer myself, but I gave up in 1966. I am on Uganda’s liberation, poverty, and jobs.”
Now, depending on what side of football emotional instability you belong to, this statement either sounded deeply responsible or personally offensive.
Because let us be honest, Ugandans do not support European football casually.
We support with spiritual commitment.
People wake up emotionally depending on whether a club won. Entire weekends collapse because eleven millionaires in another country failed to defend a corner kick properly. Friendships temporarily end. WhatsApp statuses become emotional warfare. Productivity declines nationally.
For some Arsenal fans, this championship was not simply football.
It was healing.
It was closure.
It was finally answering years of online humiliation from friends who support richer clubs and speak with the confidence of people who personally funded transfer windows.
So naturally, hearing the President ask, “What is Arsenal?” landed like a personal attack.
But beneath the humour of the moment sat an uncomfortable question Museveni seemed to be asking: why do Ugandans passionately celebrate foreign victories while often neglecting local talent, local sport and even local struggles?
“You can have your Arsenal, but start with your own people, please,” he added.
And honestly, that line deserves at least five seconds of uncomfortable silence.
Because Uganda’s relationship with foreign football is fascinating.
On any given weekend, Kampala transforms into unofficial London. Bars overflow. Jerseys dominate streets. People argue passionately about clubs located thousands of kilometres away with the emotional intensity of shareholders.
Yet local football matches sometimes struggle for attendance.
European clubs have become emotional inheritance.
Entire families support teams passed down through generations like clan totems.
You meet someone whose father suffered as an Arsenal fan, and now the son is also suffering faithfully, passing emotional trauma from one generation to the next.
But President Museveni’s comments also revealed a generational gap.
To many younger Ugandans, football is not merely sport. It is identity, escape and community. In a country where daily life already demands resilience, ninety minutes of football offers emotional distraction from rent, traffic, unemployment and the mysterious disappearance of electricity during important moments.
Football becomes therapy.
Affordable therapy.
Sometimes painful therapy, but therapy nonetheless.
Meanwhile, President Museveni positioned himself differently.
“If I want football, I play football. I don’t celebrate it,” he remarked.
Which, depending on your age, sounds either profoundly disciplined or like somebody who genuinely does not understand modern fandom.
Still, Arsenal fans are unlikely to be discouraged.
After waiting over two decades for glory, nobody is about to pause celebrations because State House failed to understand the assignment.
For them, this moment belongs to persistence.
To staying loyal through suffering.
To surviving annual disappointment and still somehow showing up every August saying, “This season feels different.”
And perhaps that is the real Ugandan story here.
Whether it is politics, football, business or daily survival, Ugandans remain dangerously optimistic people.
We simply keep believing.
Even when logic quietly leaves the room.
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